Chapter 16 Ares
ARES
Ilie on the bed with Katerina curled up against me, her head resting on my chest, her breathing steady. My thumb gently rubs up and down her right arm.
I can't stop looking at her, at the vulnerability she showed me tonight.
We've barely known each other for weeks, yet somehow, I feel closer to her in this moment than I've felt to anyone in years—maybe ever. And we haven't even had sex yet.
On that note, she confirmed what her uncle implied, she's a virgin. If she had just told me that, it would have been enough to alter things, but then she showed me something else.
Her scar.
When she lifted her dress, something shifted. The walls between us cracked just enough for me to see the woman beneath the seemingly I-don't-care attitude.
My fingers move to her burn again, my fingertips softly touching the scar from her ribs down below her waist.
I've seen burns before. I've caused them. But hers is different. It's not a mark of violence inflicted; it's a badge of survival.
When she first revealed it, her eyes held defeat before she even pulled away her dress. As if she expected disgust. As if she'd seen it before.
No woman should ever look that way—especially not my wife.
"What are you thinking about?" she murmurs without looking up at me.
"You," I answer honestly. "How brave you were tonight."
Her body tenses slightly against mine, almost imperceptible, but I feel it. She's bracing herself.
"I meant what I said earlier," I tell her, my voice low. "It doesn't take anything away from you."
She glances up at me. "You don't have to keep talking about it."
I nod. "I know, it's just... I don't want you to think anything of it. It makes you, you know? I don't want you hiding it, protecting it, thinking you're less."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Gosh, you notice everything, don't you?"
I smile. "I'm observant. It's kept me alive."
She forces a smile.
"I've hidden it for so long," she admits, her voice soft. "People either stare or pretend it's not there. Both are worse than the scar itself."
I cup her cheek. "People are cruel. They fear what they don't understand."
"And you understand?" There's a challenge in her voice.
"No," I say honestly. "I don't understand what you went through. I don't know what it's like to carry those memories on your skin. But I understand survival. I understand pain."
My thumb brushes across her cheekbone. "And I understand beauty."
A flush spreads across her face, and she looks away. "Don't."
"Don't what? Speak the truth?"
She rolls her eyes.
"It's true. It's just another part of you," I tell her. "A part that shows me exactly who you are."
"And who am I?" she asks.
"A survivor. A fighter." I pause, looking into her eyes. "A queen."
She laughs, and then a serious look comes across her face.
"Can I ask you something?" she asks hesitantly.
"Of course."
She turns and props herself up on one elbow, her expression serious.
"I'm grateful for the words you've said regarding my vulnerability, and for making me feel safe when I told you I've never been with a man before, but Ares, if I'm truly to be your queen.
.." She hesitates. "Then I need to know my king. "
My body tenses, but I keep my face neutral. "What do you mean?"
"I see something in you," she continues, her voice gentle. "A burden you carry, like I have mine. You watch those security feeds all night. You barely sleep. You're hypervigilant about protecting everyone."
I clench my jaw, fighting the instinct to shut this conversation down.
"If you want vulnerability from me, I need it in return." Her hand comes to rest on my chest, right over my heart. "Tell me something real, Ares. Something you haven't told anyone else."
I sit up, putting some distance between us. Cold air rushes into the space where her warmth had been. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my back to her.
"You're asking for a lot," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
"I know," she says, sitting up.
The silence stretches between us. I can feel her waiting, patient but persistent. This woman who'd just let me see her most guarded secret is asking for the same in return.
Fair, but terrifying.
I've never been vulnerable with anyone. Not even my siblings know the depths of what I carry—especially now as Don. Vulnerability is weakness in my world, and weakness gets you killed.
But if she's to be my wife, really my wife, not just in name or as a strategic pawn—how can I expect her loyalty without giving her my truth?
I take a deep breath and turn to face her. She sits cross-legged on the bed now, in her bra and underwear, having ditched the dress on my third time devouring her.
"My father," I begin, the words sticking in my throat. I clear it and try again. "When they found my father..."
I stop, images flashing before my eyes that I've tried desperately to forget. The room goes cold, and it's as if I'm back to that terrible day.
"You don't have to—" she starts, but I shake my head.
"I do." I meet her eyes. "I was there."
Her face softens with understanding, but she doesn't speak.
"I was the one who found him." The confession slips out, heavy as lead. "Not the guards. Not my brothers. Me."
I close my eyes briefly, fighting the memory that comes roaring back. When I open them, Katerina has moved closer, though she doesn't touch me. She's giving me space while showing me she's here.
I clench my fists, remembering everything.
"I saw the blood first. Fuck, there was so much of it." My voice drops. "Too much for one man, I remember thinking."
Katerina gasps, but she remains silent, letting me speak.
"He was still warm when I found him." The admission burns my throat. "If I'd been there an hour earlier, maybe even minutes, I could have saved him."
I look at her, really look at her, letting her see what no one else has—the guilt that eats at me day and night.
"I couldn't protect him." My voice strains over the words. "He made me his second-in-command when I was twenty. Trained me to take over from him someday. And when it mattered most, I wasn't there."
I reach out and take her hand, needing her to understand what I'm about to say.
"But I swear to you, Katerina, I will never fail to protect what's mine again." I say, hearing the intensity of my own voice. "That's why I don't sleep. That's why I watch those cameras. That's why you have Chris. It's not because I don't trust you—it's because I refuse to fail again."
She squeezes my hand, her eyes never leaving mine.
"Is that why you're so determined to find who did it?" she asks softly.
I nod. "They didn't just kill my father. They declared war on my family. On everything he built." I pause, something else surfacing that I've never admitted aloud. "And they made sure I found him. They wanted me to see what they'd done to him."
"How do you know they meant for you to find him?" Her question is careful, analytical.
"Because they left me a message."
"What did it say?" she asks, getting closer to me.
"'The sons follow the father.'"
"Gosh, Ares, what do your brothers think of this?"
I shake my head and stand. "They know none of this. They don't think I found him, and they don't know about the note."
"What? Why?"
"Because," I say and start pacing, "Theo and Dimitri would react too hastily, more than they already are, to find out who did it. And I don't want anyone to know about the note. Only me and the man responsible know it exists, so when the time comes, I can be certain I'm killing the right person."
I stop pacing and look at her.
"Well, now you know, too."
Katerina stands up and hugs me. "I will never share what we talk about with anyone. And thank you."
I look down at her. "For what?"
"For letting me in. I couldn't be a good wife otherwise. I won't be the only one being all vulnerable and whatnot. It's a two-way street."
She grabs my hands and pulls me toward the bed.
"Come on, let's go to sleep. I think we've had enough sharing for one night."
We get into bed, and she backs into me so I'm spooning her. As we drift off to sleep, I notice two things. First, I've never held her to sleep, never felt the warmth of her body in bed. And second, I'm actually allowing myself to finally rest.